


found a way

by worry



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Autism, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 16:35:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12016731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: Lucien reminds him a lot of his younger self; their experiences as children being very similar, slight identical lives. They exhibited, apparently, the same behaviors; Lucien’s beautiful quirks and intricacies being due to his autism, and Damien’s being due to—Lucien reminds him a lot of his younger self.





	found a way

**Author's Note:**

> This was a commission for ditzymessiah on tumblr and I had so, so much fun writing it!

i.

 

Lucien is the light of his life.

 

He is Damien’s everything, Damien’s all, every part of him relaxing and melting as he holds his son; it is hazy, due to the medicine he was given, things move in and out and blur and he moves in and out and blurs, his world turns and changes before his wide eyes, the sounds of the hospital being unbearably loud with its beeps and conversation  _ but:  _ he has Lucien, his son, his everything, cradled in his arms, so now nothing matters, so now he has a greater purpose, a higher calling, so much love to give.

 

ii.

 

_ Three years later  _ and every parent is nervous about sending their child off to preschool,  _ every parent,  _ and Damien is  _ never  _ similar to “other parents”; he is calm and patient and kind, giving everything unconditionally to Lucien, the light of his life, his everything.

 

But Damien is nervous about sending Lucien off to preschool, like every parent, so sometimes he can falter, sometimes he conforms; he believes in his son, he can see Lucien doing great things, he will excel, but also, like faltering, like “normality”, he is  _ nervous.  _ Lucien has never been without him for very long— _ he’s never been without Lucien for very long.  _ It is natural to be nervous. It is  _ natural -  _ to worry. He has never worried this much in his life. It is consuming and shaking, every part of him again melting into a higher consciousness, a hypervigilance. Lucien will be okay. Lucien will be okay. Lucien will be  _ okay. _

 

He sets his son on the ground and Lucien babbles and giggles; he is never very talkative, but his smile is so  _ pure,  _ so wholesome and Perfect, that it doesn’t matter. He is quiet and well-behaved, he tells Lucien’s preschool teacher. He is the sweetest kid you’ll ever meet. He’s very intelligent. He will be a  _ pleasure,  _ Damien says, to have in class.

 

[He watches Lucien enter the building until he vanishes from view.  _ Lucien will be okay.] _

 

iii.

 

Lucien is okay, for a very long time. The preschool staff tells him that his son is, indeed, a pleasure to have in class, a sweet and loving child. He is well-behaved, as you said, Mr. Bloodmarch. He is wonderful.

 

Lucien is okay, for a very long time. He comes home and draws pictures for his father—things that they learned in school that day, numbers and letters in bright crayon, heartwarming pictures of the two of them in bright crayon, Damien’s world being suddenly sketched and detailed into crayon and marker, vibrant colors in everything, everywhere that he looks changing into a better place, a better world. 

 

Lucien hugs him, when Damien picks him up from preschool. He clings to Damien’s leg and, when Damien picks him up, puts his tiny hand into the softness of Damien’s long, flowing hair. He runs the hair through his fingers and flaps his other hand up and down and it is  _ so  _ endearing, the kindest and most comforting sight. Lucien is the light of his life. The name Lucien means  _ light,  _ and he truly is, Lucien shining bright and pure in darkness, Lucien being love. Lucien being the light of his life always.

 

There is nothing wrong with his son. He has his quirks, but that is what makes him absolutely and wholly  _ perfect. _

 

iv.

  
  


He is entirely immersed in his work, when he gets the call. It only registers in his mind thinly; three or four rings before he pulls himself away from the computer, over to his cellphone, onto the green  _ ACCEPT CALL  _ button on his cracked screen. 

 

The caller ID reads the name of Lucien’s preschool. Lucien will be okay. Lucien is okay. There’s nothing wrong—

 

“Hello?”

 

“Mr. Bloodmarch?”

 

He breathes in, chest and shoulders turning swiftly heavy. His fingers tap incessantly on the desk in front of him; it’s a calming gesture, a calming repetition, and he needs to hoard calm and hold it close, as there is a crack in the voice of the caller, a concerned tone. It is going to be okay. The clock on the wall continues to tick and tock, the smooth wood beneath his fingers becomes rough and heavy, like shoulders and chests. It is going to be okay. The room is, very suddenly, freezing, biting at every part of his revealed skin.

 

It is going to be okay. 

 

“Th—that’s me, yes. Is my son doing well?”

 

“Um… we need you to… come down here and get Lucien.”

 

[There has always been an underlying fear, a sense of greater danger, a general-parent nervousness about a possible situation like this;  _ every parent is nervous about sending their kid off to preschool  _ but Damien loves and loves and loves and he would be  _ lost  _ without Lucien, he would be nothing, ghastly between. There are always difficulties with raising toddlers but Lucien is the perfect child—he rarely cries, learned walking very early, follows directions well, never misbehaves. He is perfect. Everything is going to be okay.]

 

“Why?”

 

“He’s… we’re not sure how to describe it. He’s having, like, a meltdown on the playground.”

 

“I’ll—I’ll be right there, thank you for alerting me.”

 

[He very nearly falls on his quick race to his car;  _ it is going to be okay.] _

 

v.

 

Lucien is sitting, knees-to-chest, underneath a tree; he has never heard his son cry in an intensity such as this, he wails and wails and trembles and Damien wails and trembles. Everything is going to be okay. Everything is going to be okay. He is going to be okay. He doesn’t know what to do or how to bandage and fix and make things better but  _ everything is going to be okay,  _ Lucien is a resilient child and Damien is a resilient man. Everything is going to be okay so he approaches Lucien slowly, slowly, slowly, body moving forward in the gentlest, purest way he can manage in this situation, in this stress.

 

“Lucien?” he whispers, and Lucien continues his wailing, places his hands plastered over his ears. “Lucien,” he repeats, moving closer onto his knees, “hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

 

Lucien stares at him, unmindful. It takes a very long time for Lucien to register his father’s presence; when he does, however, he runs into Damien’s arms, babbles on and on, presses his head against Damien’s chest. Oh. Lucien is the light of his life. He  _ loves. _

 

vi.

 

He is stopped on his way out by Lucien’s teacher. He picks Lucien up, holds him close;  _ we need to talk,  _ she says,  _ about your son. I think I know what caused his meltdown today. _

  
  
  
  
  


.

i.

 

_ Thirteen years later  _ and Lucien wears “autistic” so proudly that it makes  _ Damien  _ proud;  _ thirteen years before  _ he had the mindset of  _ there is nothing wrong with my son, he is perfectly fine  _ but learned quickly, loved even more. Lucien  _ is  _ perfectly fine—he is perfect the way he is, he is a teenager and acts like a teenager but his heart and everything inside of him is golden, he loves too, he is perfect, he is the light of Damien’s life. He has grown into such a fine, wonderful young man.

 

ii.

 

“Dad, do I  _ really  _ have to—”

 

“You don’t  _ have  _ to, of course,” Damien smiles. “But I’d like you to.”

 

Lucien rolls his eyes, long, but gives a soft smile that Damien knows is a give-in, an  _ only for you  _ gesture. The photo albums are thick and adorned with black and red scribbles from when Damien was a child, drawings of suns and moons and stars and monsters on every visible part of its skin.

 

“This was my first day of kindergarten,” he tells Lucien, and holds the photograph up. He’s standing outside of a building in a bear constume, staring right into the camera and holding up one thumb, mostly expressionless.

 

“Huh.”

 

“Huh?”

 

“You look - interesting.”

 

Damien chuckles. “I loved that costume so much. I rarely took it off, and would sob if my parents attempted to change me out of it. One day, it got ripped on accident, and I refused to speak for a fortnight.”

 

“And now you taxidermy bears. Of course.”

 

“I know it’s morbid, but I find it fascinating.”

 

“Naturally.” Lucien laughs. “I did the same thing when I was eight, remember? The skull shirt?”

 

Damien thinks back to it. It was a very similar situation; Damien had bought him a shirt with a skull pattern on it when Lucien saw it in the store and begged relentlessly. He would wail and cry when it was being washed, have anxiety when instructed to wear different clothing. It is exactly the way he felt when he was younger, living in one costume for what would feel like forever to a small child.

 

“Yes, I remember.” He ponders it for a moment—

 

but ignores the similarity quickly, flipping the page to another photo.It shows Damien at a middle school dance, in a tiny, custom-made Victorian-style suit. 

 

“You’ve been into Victorian stuff since you were in  _ middle school? _ ”

 

“Absolutely. It’s been fascinating to me for… essentially, my entire life.”

 

“Oh,” Lucien says, lightbulb. “Like a special interest?”

 

_ Like a special interest?  _

 

“I—I think you could call it that, yes.”

 

Lucien reminds him a  _ lot  _ of his younger self; their experiences as children being very similar, slight identical lives. They exhibited, apparently, the same behaviors; Lucien’s beautiful quirks and intricacies being due to his autism, and Damien’s being due to—

 

Lucien reminds him a  _ lot  _ of his younger self.

 

iii.

 

They say it is common to get diagnosed later in life when you’re Damien’s age; a lack of knowledge and research on autism strained his childhood, but now things make sense, now it all falls down and together, now he feels comforted and hopeful in this label. He is not simply “strange” or “weird”—he is autistic. Now they  _ both  _ wear “autistic” with pride, gifting each other stim toys on each gift-giving holiday, stimming together, helping each other in their difficulties and strengths. They are autistic, finally, a place in the world, and they are  _ perfect. _

  
  
  



End file.
